


bloom

by BlackSclera



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Bruises, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24943402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSclera/pseuds/BlackSclera
Summary: “Try not to do anything stupid, Dame-Tsuna,” Reborn says.“What are you saying, Reborn? Of course, I won’t,” Tsuna lies.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags.
> 
> This really isn't meant to be a good story. Just a ventfic.

Tsuna wants to break.

Just for a few hours, he thinks. Maybe even a day.

Just long enough for him to fall apart, aching heart bared, limbs sore, and the soft insides of his throat raw. Long enough for him to lose himself in the screaming that plagues his head in the moments of peace and quiet that felt undeserved and _wrong_.

_Look at me_ , he wants to say. _Look at what they’ve done to me. Look at what I’ve allowed them to do to me._

_Look at what_ I’ve _done to myself._

But then Yamamoto’s laughter rings, tranquil and light, just as Gokudera’s own voice filters in through the static noise that fills his ears. He doesn’t quite hear what they’re saying but Tsuna responds and plays his part all the same, expression shifting with a methodical ease born from years-long practice. He calls their names, playfully interjects when their voices rise, accepts the warm arm around his neck and returns Gokudera’s enthusiastic smile.

Like this, he looks at them and can do little but think, _just a bit more_.

_Just a little bit more._

He can hold on a little longer. He can push himself a little farther. He’s always managed to accomplish the impossible for their sake, hasn’t he? This shouldn’t be different. It wouldn’t be.

(But when he’s all alone in his room, moonlight streaming through his window and the shear of his curtains, the thought returns mercilessly loud.

Screams, _I want to break._

_I want to let go._

_I want to hurt just for the sake of hurting._

And Tsuna almost listens.

But he doesn’t. Can’t.)

There are a few close calls, times when he’d eye too sharp edges with an unhealthy interest or purposely do something to aggravate Reborn for a swelling bruise or three. He doesn’t know if the hitman notices; he’d said he could read minds but Tsuna doubts that Reborn would let something like this go for so long if he’d known about it.

More than once, he’d thought of approaching Hibari or Ryohei for the sole purpose of a beatdown disguised as training- except they would _know_ because Tsuna has never had the inclination to take initiative before. If that doesn’t tell them, then Tsuna’s lack of particular enthusiasm to deal hits as much as he is receiving would. Anything, really, because if the past few months have taught him anything, it’s that they’ve learned to read him scarily well.

Tsuna has always been selfish but it had never been for the sake of himself. He’d taken the rings but rejected all of Vongola to protect his friends. He’d strived to win against every opponent he’s faced to become stronger so that he can keep them safe.

He has never had anything in his life, and what little he had, he's afraid of losing. Every day, the thought of his friends turning around and walking away plagues his mind, barbed - truthful - words meant to hurt in the worst ways about how Tsuna isn't worth staying for spilling from their tongues as they leave. All it takes is one mistake and everything he’s fought tooth and nail to keep could disappear one day.

So, Tsuna endures.

Takes in measured breaths, forces his smiles to hold longer, speaks with a voice that betrayed the bubbling scream in the middle of his throat.

Thinks, _everything will be fine._

Even if it isn’t.

-

And then Reborn leaves.

Under direct orders from the Ninth, Reborn is to stay in Italy for three months, the order inscribed on a paper that bore a familiar Sky Flame the size of a fingertip. In that time, Tsuna is expected to continue training with the occasional visit from Dino and his men. Bianchi is meant to overlook his progress when she isn’t helping his mother in the house and doing whatever she does during the day.

The urge _burns_ under his skin, a disturbed sort of thrill running through him when he hears the news. He should be worried, he knows, of the implications of such an order being issued but all he can think of is having his room to himself and having the privacy he’s been depraved of ever since the hitman arrived. Of the moments he would have that isn’t constantly plagued by the paranoia of having his mind read, of having everything that is wrong with him being pushed and prodded at like he is something that needs fixing.

“Try not to do anything stupid, Dame-Tsuna,” Reborn says.

“What are you saying, Reborn? Of course, I won’t,” Tsuna lies.

Reborn stares at him, unreadable.

“You better.”

-

It takes some getting used to but Tsuna eventually adjusts to the silence.

Part of him still expects Reborn to suddenly appear with a gun in his hand, barrel aimed at his head and disappointment in his eyes. He waits tersely, shoulders drawn high and eyes flicking to every corner and his locked door, expecting Reborn’s voice to come followed by the cold muzzle of a gun pressed between his eyes.

(Never to hurt. Never to permanently scar. Not that the bullets scared him- it’s _Reborn_ he’s afraid of.)

But Reborn doesn’t. No reprimands, no sudden pain at the back of his head, no green gun in sight.

Tsuna has his first accident that day. A bruise, not significantly large, black against his shin. His hands shake around the wrench, then he puts it down.

Breathes a little easier.

_The first and the last time,_ he thinks as he hides it under the mattress of his bed with his heart beating thunderously in his chest and pulsing up the line of his throat.

It wouldn’t be the first time Tsuna has lied to himself.

-

He walks just fine and Yamamoto and Gokudera do not notice anything. Perhaps that feeds into the urge, the stupid confidence that he can push a little more. It’s not like they’re being hurt. Everyone is safe, he knows, and there is nothing pushing at the corners of his mind telling him something is.

For once, everything is calm.

It’s been a while since it _was_ and Tsuna grows restless, eyeing every corner and itching for a distant explosion to happen so he wouldn’t have to feel on edge.

He goes home, tells his friends he’s a little tired and would like to sleep, and relieves himself of the anxiety by lifting the mattress and taking his dirty little secret with him. One over the same bruise on his leg, then another. The third hits more bone than it does the meat and his body shudders, shaken.

Tsuna bites down on a scream and he’s lucky he does because not even moments later, Lambo is knocking incessantly on his door. He’s screaming something, about locking his door and never doing that before, is he hiding something dirty, is there a girl in his room?

He hastily slips the wrench back under and limps to the door. Tells Lambo off fondly, eyes shining with an odd sheen from the bursts of pain.

Lambo looks up at him, uncomprehending, then sneezes snot all over his pant leg.

Tsuna thinks he wouldn’t have his little brother any other way.

-

There is a noticeable limp to his step the next day but he’s able to shrug it off as a result of his clumsiness. There’s something weird about how Yamamoto looks at him as Gokudera rattles one first aid tip after the other, and Tsuna pretends he doesn’t notice.

If he’s a little more careless and prone to slipping and falling than usual, he can blame it on Reborn’s absence.

-

He loses count on how many accidents he has right up until he manages to stumble into a group of delinquents whose appearances spelled bad news. The kind of prey Hibari-san would go after, he distantly thinks with surprisingly less trepidation than he expected. He’s faced murderers; a few bullies don’t really compare.

Then they turn on him, eyes sharp with interest and knuckles cracking, and rather than running away, Tsuna stays. His arms are sore since he’s run out of space with his legs, but the few places he couldn’t hit-

Well, he thinks as the guy at the front leads with a closed fist, they can take care of that.

-

He comes home bruised and battered. His mother is near tears.

There is a group of unconscious bodies strewn all over some decrepit alley and Tsuna needs a bath so he goes.

“I’m okay, I promise,” he tells her over his shoulder, smiling.

Tsuna is grateful that they avoided hitting his face. Otherwise, even just saying that he slipped down a hill while being chased by a dog would be a bit far-fetched of an excuse.

-

Again, and again, and again. An accident after another, bruises on his bruises, sore and tired but pleased.

Namimori is peaceful. Tsuna has forgotten peace.

So he makes a chaos of his own.

-

Tsuna doesn’t know what day it is. It’s getting harder and harder to really remember since all he remembers are the moments of clarity punctuated by the blunt impact of steel and fists on his skin.

He thinks he’s lost a bit of weight, which is easy enough to hide with the uniform and oversized clothes. The few times Dino has come, he did well enough to pretend he’s doing okay. Avoids the arm like he did with Yamamoto because they’re observant, the both of them, and they’d notice the sharp jut of his shoulders and the swelling under his clothes. On more than one occasion, Gokudera quieted when he noticed the way he dodged Yamamoto’s arm.

Tsuna thinks he’s probably running short on time. It wouldn’t be long before they start asking questions or doing something stupid like following him home.

(He shouldn’t be angry. He shouldn’t be, not when all they are is concerned about him. But he kind of is, and it makes him hate himself a little more.)

Another perfect laughter, a lackluster excuse, and Tsuna separates from them. He's been doing well lately. Paying attention in class, managing to pitch a thought or two with his friends and feeling more animated than usual, and lying _lying **lying-**_

Without any company, he allows his feet to drag and his shoulders to drop. His body is aching like he’s one giant bruise – and he is, under the collar of his uniform, above the ankles of his pants, _he is_ – as he wanders with an empty gaze, sickeningly satisfied by the painful throb of his limbs.

He’s sick in the head. Is he? He doesn’t know. He wants to hurt, though, that much he’s sure of and he’s been getting better at finding a way.

Reborn will be home soon, the thought comes, looms ominously. Reborn will be home _soon_ , and Tsuna will be forced to stop.

The frustration that rips at him feels a little too real and he has to pause in the middle of the street to breathe through his nose and out. He doesn’t want to stop. He needs this. He _needs_ this.

But he knows he will have to give it up soon.

-

That night, he hits harder than usual. Bruises a little more. Raises the wrench, drives it down, and hits and hits and _hits_ until he's whimpering and curling into himself, teeth gritted tight and tears falling from his eyes.

In the darkness, his arms, legs and stomach look perfectly engulfed by purple-blue.

(Tsuna is sure it wouldn't make much of a difference even if he turned on the lights.)


End file.
